


beverly hills barbie

by galaxybrunost505



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, High School, Sad Ending, The Overcoat rewrite, Unrequited Love, also the writing is a bit different than how i usually write, am i that person now? oh well, as serious as the term granny panties can get, because in the original assignment i had a word limit, because it's a boy, because it's supposed to be more serious, did i seriously turn russian literature into lesbian fanfiction, does this classify is nikolai gogol fanfiction?, his name is dane, it's very short, kameron's boy name is dane, so here her name is dane, so i kept it short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxybrunost505/pseuds/galaxybrunost505
Summary: Katya tries to help her best friend, Trixie - for whom she is profoundly enamored - to fit in with their peers by inviting her to a party. It doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	beverly hills barbie

**Author's Note:**

> Rewriting of Nikolai Gogol's [The Overcoat](http://fountainheadpress.com/expandingthearc/assets/gogolovercoat.pdf) that I wrote as an assignment for my Theory of Literature class last year. Got a 10. Translated from Portuguese to English. Yes, this is lesbian Russian literature fanfiction, die mad about it.  
> Thank you to [Zamo-95](http://zamo-95.tumblr.com) and [Fedu](http://fedu31.tumblr.com) for encouraging me to make public one of the biggest absuridities of my academic life. Feel free to come talk to me on my [Tumblr](http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com)!
> 
> You'll find that the stories are not very similar in their content, but rather in the essence of what they are trying to convey to the reader about how much of a bitch life is. Enjoy!

Even though I was friends with the scholarship student who sold homemade cookies door-to-door on the weekends and worked at the library after school, no one ever said anything to me about it – at least not to my face. Trixie wasn’t as lucky, considering that when they weren’t yelling at her for being a stinky pauper, throwing food at her in the cafeteria during lunch, or pretending not to hear her when she spoke, they would draw little fat piglets on pages ripped off of their notebooks to stuff into her locker and oink at her when she opened them. But oh, she did have her dreams. She’d blink her little brown eyes and tell me all about the dreams she had had about Dane again, as I struggled not to roll my eyes, about how well-dress she thought Kim was, and how Bob was so intelligent. She always wanted to belong, but I knew this kind of belonging wasn’t meant for her. She was good as she was, period. But then, on a Friday afternoon, I got an invitation and an idea came along with it.

“Here’s the deal,” I said, “Vanessa Vanjie is throwing a party at her place and we’re going.” She told me I was crazy, that she didn’t have an outfit she could wear to such an event – and worst of all, she had her doubts about stepping into Vanessa’s house, since she called Trixie all kinds of names right to her face and always oinked the loudest. I told her not to worry, that it was her chance to prove herself to all of these stuck-up phonies, that Dane would be there and that I’d figure it out and I did. I bought the only size 10 dress I could find on Rodeo Drive, dusted off an old Louis Vuitton purse, took a few Pandora bracelets I was sure my mom wouldn’t miss, and painted her face in Dior and Shiseido, even though she insisted there was no need to use such expensive makeup brands on her. I transformed her into a drop-dead gorgeous version of herself, too bad you couldn’t see her freckles under that much blush, or her curls after I spent hours straightening her hair, or that little mole she has on her hand and wanted to cover in foundation. She looked as if she was actually made of plastic, Beverly Hills Barbie herself. 

When we first arrived at the party, she looked at me, blinking under her false eyelashes, and said she was ready for everyone to see her as she really was, rather than under her raggedy uniform and messy hair. I smiled at her, but my heart stung. I already saw her like that every day and my chest would ache anyway, even on the days that the bags under her eyes were Gucci sized. Now, I couldn’t even see her little brown eyes under so much eyeshadow and glitter and lashes. 

Not everyone agreed with me, though, because as soon as they saw her, jaws dropped, friends were elbowed and eyebrows were raised. Vanessa didn’t like that one bit. Kim told her that she liked her earrings and Bob asked her how she had learned to do her makeup so well. When Vanessa saw that Dane, her ex-boyfriend, had started walking in our direction, that’s when the shit hit the fan.

“I didn’t know selling greasy cookies and piling up books made bank like this,” she said as soon as she stepped closer to us. “Oh, please, who do you think you are? Do you think your little friend here was going to lend you a nice dress and we’d forget who you really are?” With a smirk, she oinked. 

Trixie was so shocked she might not even have realized the knots that had tangled themselves in her throat, but when she opened her mouth no voice came out. Vanessa laughed and told her she was pathetic for even trying, that she would never be like the people in that room and a million other things I wish she had never heard. I took her by the arm and we turned our backs to the vixen, but then we froze.

_Riiiiiiip._

I wasn’t sure whether it was her dress or her heart that had been torn apart before I looked, but when I laid eyes on her, all that I and everyone else who was there to witness could see was her exposed back and her huge granny panties. The laughter started with Dane, but soon the rumble spread itself across what seemed like the entire house. I called us an Uber and ran outside with her, holding the dress up with my hands. Goddamn Rodeo Drive and their lack of size 12s. 

On the way to my house, she cried until the makeup had melted off her face like a mask, ripped off her eyelashes, and took off her heels. She sobbed loudly while I held her until the dead hours of the night on that Saturday, but as I helped her dry her tears and dressed her up in a nightgown that used to be my grandmother’s, all I could see were the freckles on her cheeks, the mole on her hand, and the glow in her little brown eyes. I sighed to myself. She will never know.


End file.
